The Saints
by teddylupin-snape
Summary: A killer is picking off Aurors one by one. Kingsley and Harry turn to each other for as long as they can. / KingsleyHarry, for Bex


**For Bex.**

 **.**

"The Saints' killer is still at large. Given past events," Kingsley said, his voice somber as he glanced around the briefing room, "I'm going to pull back the case until we can come up with another course of action."

Harry sat on the edge of his seat, running a hand through his hair. Kingsley made eye contact with him as he moved, his gaze lingering on Harry's for a long moment before he turned back to the rest of the room. Harry let out a low sigh. They hadn't been after The Saints' killer for very long, not more than a fortnight. The case had still been one of the hardest-hitting for the Auror Office. It turned out that The Saints' Killer, as he was known, was now only interested in murdering the Aurors put on his case.

It made sense, Harry thought, in some deeply perverted way. The killer would never get caught if there weren't any Aurors left to catch him. As far as the Aurors were aware, his first victims were random, innocent people. Completely unconnected to each other and to the murderer. Their only purpose had been to get the attention of the Auror Office. And once he'd gotten that…

Three of their own had been killed on this case already. It was enough to establish a pattern without question. It was enough for them to put the case aside until they were able to tackle it without losing another Auror.

"Aren't you worried he'll go back to killing innocent people if we stop?"

Kingsley took a deep breath, trying to pull his thoughts together. "I don't plan on tabling this case for more than a couple days. Hopefully it won't be long enough for him to strike again, but I'll take on the case myself if I need to. I'm not comfortable putting any of the rest of you at risk until we know what we're facing."

" _No_." Harry's voice was forceful, but he hadn't meant to say that out loud. His hands were curled into tight fists under the table, his eyes not wavering from Kingsley's.

He merely raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any better ideas, Potter?" Harry shot him a hard look in return. "Alright. Anything else that needs to be covered?"

.

"Careful," Kingsley warned, his voice a soft, low growl.

"Right," Harry said, pulling back and meeting the other man's eyes, a cheeky grin on his face. "Nothing the uniform won't cover. Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"You've got me." He raised his hands in an act of surrender, before moving further along Kingsley's collarbone, kissing, pulling the tender skin between his teeth. Harry dragged his hands lightly across his abs, reveling in the way the muscles stiffened beneath his touch. His eyes flit back up to meet Kingsley's, gazing at him through his eyelashes before dipping his head lower, lower.

.

"Saints," Harry said with a sigh as he sank into the chair facing Kingsley's desk. His office was neat, organized. Harry's was the complete opposite—Kingsley had always said that Harry tended to sit there rather than at his own desk to avoid tidying it up. Harry couldn't deny that. "More like martyrs."

"If you've got a problem with the name, you can take it up with the newspapers." Kingsley's face was half-covered by the open case file he was reading. He shut the manila envelope and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. Harry hadn't noticed how much the other man had seemed to age over the past month. "I've got more important things on my plate than naming serial killers and their victims."

It was a sign of just how stressed Kingsley was that his voice held no joking levity to it at these words. Harry missed the days when they could bicker lightheartedly, when the threats that were pervasive during the war were gone, when they could _breathe_.

"I'll take the Saints' case."

Kingsley's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's. "No, you won't."

"Neither will you. I mean it, Kingsley." Harry's tone lightened with the name. They never called each other by their first names at work, it was unprofessional, Kingsley had said. As far as Harry was concerned, that meant it was too intimate for him. "You're the head of the department, you're the valuable one here. And it's not like I haven't had Dark wizards coming after me before. I can take it," he insisted.

"I don't—" Kingsley dropped his voice to a whisper. "Frankly, Harry, I don't give a damn what you think you can handle." The warm mahogany of Kingsley's eyes glinted with frustration, but Harry didn't let up.

"You're not risking yourself. We can either come up with some other solution or I'll take the case."

"You're in no position to make ultimatums, Potter." Harry bristled. "I'm your boss, you'll do as I say. You'll work that burglary case until it's closed, then I'll assign you a new one. This," Kingsley said, indicating the file on his desk. "This is not your case, nor will it ever be. Is that clear?"

Harry set his jaw, not breaking eye contact.

" _Harry_." Kingsley's voice was deep, dangerous. "I'm warning you now, if I catch you so much as mention this case again, you'll be suspended."

"Then I quit! I'll work it as a private citizen—he won't know I'm on the case, I won't be a target, and you won't be able to stop me."

Kingsley pushed his chair back from his desk and stood, resting his hands atop the closed file for the case. "Look." He waited until Harry raised his eyes. "I know you want these murders stopped. I do, too. But you have this—this hero complex, Harry. You always need to be the person to solve the case, even when it means putting yourself in danger. Things may have been different back in the war; I won't argue that it was you who had to stop Voldemort. But it's different now. You're not the Chosen One anymore. You're just a run-of-the-mill Auror with no business ordering other people around—least of all me. You've become this…this power-hungry justice seeker and it's going to get you killed one of these days.

"I'm not going to let you die on my watch, and especially not on my orders. So I need you to suck it up and work the cases I give you. Alright?"

Kingsley's tone left no room for argument. But when Harry saw the look on his face—the pained, heartbroken expression—he knew he wouldn't be able to deny him this.

"Fine. I'll take another look at that burglary case."

"Good."

Harry also rose to leave, but when he had a hand on the doorknob, Kingsley stopped him. "Oh, and Potter? If you ever quit again, you're fired."

With a backwards glance and an exaggerated salute, Harry muttered a "Yes sir," and left the office.

.

Harry followed Kingsley's orders regarding the Saints' case. It appeared that the other man was serious when he forbade Harry from mentioning the case, as even when they were home Kingsley refused to divulge any information about the case's development to Harry. He was frustrated, being left out. But Kingsley had been right about Harry, and as long as he wasn't going after The Saints' Killer himself, Harry wasn't ready to bring it up again.

He'd seen Kingsley going in and out of meetings with the current Minister for Magic countless times over the weeks that followed. What they discussed, Harry wasn't sure, but given the fact that The Saints' deaths were some of the most notable losses the Auror Office had sustained since the war ended, he'd put all his money on that being the topic.

This only meant that Kingsley had things he wanted to discuss—important things—that he felt he couldn't share with Harry. The thought made his heart sink. The two had never been open about their relationship, of course. Harry wasn't even sure whether he should refer to it as a relationship at all. But despite the titles, Harry cared for Kingsley. He couldn't lose him, but he also couldn't deny that there was distance between them now.

The disconnect made their interactions feel weighted. Kingsley insisted that keeping work out of their conversations was healthy, that it would give them some balance in their lives that they both desperately needed. Not knowing everything hurt more than the potential emotional imbalance that Harry would have to deal with in return. It wasn't like that was a particularly new experience for him, anyway.

But Kingsley had insisted, so it was hardly surprising that Harry began seeing him less and less as the days went on. The Saints' Killer was quiet as well during this time, which was the only blessing. Kingsley often went for days on end without seeing Harry outside work. Even within the office, Harry rarely saw the man leave his office. Tensions were high all around. Harry wasn't sure there was anything he could do for it anymore.

.

"Turner?"

"Potter."

Harry turned in the chair at his desk, face-to-face with the Minister for Magic. The man was tall, his gray mustache full but his eyes betraying his relative youth. He had a contrite look on his face; this couldn't be good.

"I need to have a word with you, in private."

Harry followed him into Kingsley's office, which had been empty all morning. The room lit up as they entered. Turner rounded the desk, sitting in Kingsley's seat. Harry remained standing.

"You might want to take a seat, Potter." Turner tried to make his voice kind, though kind wasn't a tone his voice performed well. Harry obliged.

"What happened?"

"I'll cut straight to it. I'm sure you know Shacklebolt placed himself on The Saints' Killer case." Turner ignored the way Harry's mouth fell open at the statement, ignored the small noise of protestation he made. "He was well aware of the risks, of course, but unfortunately—"

"No. No, he's not…"

Turner sighed. "I'm sorry. I know you were close."

He didn't. He didn't have a damn clue, but Harry didn't tell him this. He wasn't sure his voice worked at all.

"But right now, I need you to hold yourself together as best you can. Kingsley always spoke very highly of you, Harry." The use of his given name did not escape his notice. "And given your history, your experience in the department, I'd like to offer you the position as Head of the Auror Office. I hate to bring this upon you at such a time, but we need someone—"

Harry's lip trembled. He bit down on it, hard. He could taste the coppery pang of blood in his mouth. "So, what you're telling me is that—is that Kingsley _died_. He was killed, the same way all the rest of them were. You tell me this and offer me his job in one fell swoop? Are you mental?"

"If you don't want the position—"

" _Of course I don't want the bloody position_!" Harry forced himself to take a breath. "No. No, I don't want the position. I don't want any position; I quit."

Turner's jaw dropped. Harry would've laughed if the circumstances were any better. "You—"

"Quit, yeah. I'm done." He pushed himself to his feet, willing his hands to stop shaking, and stormed out of the office.

.

He returned to his flat late that night, drunk and angry. He'd walked from the Ministry to the bar, then from the bar home. He didn't trust himself to Apparate.

Falling onto the sofa, his entire body aching to relax, Harry noticed a folded piece of parchment sitting atop the coffee table before him. He snatched it up, ignoring his muscles' resistance. The writing was in Kingsley's hand. The elegant slant to the letters brought tears to his eyes; he blinked them away, unfolding the parchment and beginning to read.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I'm sorry. I know you must hate me for doing this. You're reading this, meaning I didn't make it. I can promise you that I did all I could, that I was as prepared as I could have been. But while I didn't walk into this lightly, I knew this was a possibility._

 _I feel horrible for the situation I've left you in. I feel horrible for leaving you, Harry. The selfish part of me is glad I've gone first. I know I wouldn't be able to go on without you. I can only hope that you are better able to adapt than I would have been. You must keep going, you cannot fall behind in mourning for me. You are far too valuable—to me and to the Wizarding society at large—to throw away your life over me._

 _Because of this, I need you to promise me that you won't go off seeing revenge for my death, and that you won't charge into this case blindly as I have. I had thought I was prepared. I was wrong, but I'll be damned if I let him take you, too. This isn't your responsibility. I'm sure Turner will make you think it is, assuming you don't already. I beg you not to believe him. Harry, you have so much potential in this life. There are others who can tackle the next evils; this doesn't all rest on your shoulders._

 _Thank you for everything you were for me._

 _With all my love,_

 _Kingsley_

 **.**

 **A/N: Written for Advent Calendar Day 23: (color) Mahogany;**

 **Writing Club – Character Appreciation 16: (trait) Power hungry; Disney Challenge C7: Write about someone who loves bickering with their best friend/partner; Showtime 39: (dialogue) "I quit!"; Sophie's Shelf A3: Serial Killer!AU; Angel's Arcade 1: (trait) Loyal, (title) The Saints, (character) Harry Potter; Bex's Basement 9: Write a serial killer!AU;**

 **Writing Month and Dragons: wc 2262**


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